Jane Bowles writes to husband Paul from Morocco, shortly before France’s recognition of its independence. Bowles situates her depressive turns and financial travails within a city struggling with decolonization. Tangier, Morrocco Dearest Bupple: It has been very difficult for me … Continued
…by the time I have autographed these all the lonely, lonely people who hoped to meet a man as lonely as they will have to go home…
Am occupied adjusting, trying to find place in society, work; not much ambition yet, etc. more woe.
Your pluck is not refreshment of honey—it is [una puerta]
What is this death, this birth and apparent pain, this glib love, this rush to the head of so many extraneous creatures of the air that crowd my words and never let me stop a sentence at a nice, rhythmic stop? Don’t tell me.
“But to damn it because it’s angry…. They always say that about black people: ‘those angry black people.’ And why? You’re afraid that there might be some truth to their anger. It might be justified…”
The English novelist and satirist writes to his friend and confidante, Lady Mary Lygon, a British aristocrat and Russian princess by marriage. Waugh is distraught to hear that she has recently lost her faith. Darling Blondie Please do not … Continued
The above excerpt, however insanely accurate, reads like an intervention from a group of long-time friends who secretly hate me.
I have been endeavouring to discover a better Sonnet Stanza than we have…
There, in secret, he must await the special moviegoer capable of deciphering the coded crux of Bolaño’s final novel…
